


nothing without you

by ordinary



Series: A Kiss Like Death [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Addiction, Animal Abuse, Animal Death, F/M, Fucked Up, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Lyrium Addiction, Psychopathology & Sociopathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 19:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3262049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ordinary/pseuds/ordinary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elsye was not a good girl, and that was fine by her. A portrait of a girl growing up and falling in love with her own power.</p><p>(She wanted to know what he'd be like, reduced to nothing. How pretty he would be, how needy, his hot mouth against the palm of her hand.</p><p>And so a plan was hatched.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	nothing without you

**Author's Note:**

> this is weird and violent and uhh i guess my inquiz is a monster sorry ):

**i.**

For as long as Elyse could remember, she had never been a _good_ girl. She was not sweet, or wonderful, or any of the things that her courtly company allowed themselves to believe, for the sake of being polite.

But she could pretend to be good, and that was enough. Even as far out as Ferelden, the political games thrummed with life, cicadas in the summer. A thousand flames burning bright, every one of the competing to be the best and brightest, at any cost.  _Everyone_ pretended to be something they weren't, so it was quite all right for Elyse to do so, too. That suited her fine: painted in a corner, something not her but approximately the same size and shape, with her face and voice. Coy and awkward and charming, with just the right amount of quip to be a  _character_ , but not enough to have any real stake in the machinations of the nobles.

A pawn, at most. Nothing, at least.

 _Just_ the way she liked it.

 

**ii.**

There was a darkness in her, buried in the pit of her belly, stirring more with every passing year. As she got older-- _prettier_ \-- Elyse's interests in boys grew.

But not in the way that it should have.

 

 

**iii.**

Elyse plucked the last arrow out of her sister's puppy, looking down on it with abject fondness. Neither the dog nor her sister had deserved this. Her sister was a sweet girl, and the dog had never been a bother to anyone.

But wouldn't it be nice? To peel back its skin and see the blue-run of its veins? To trace the patterns of sinew, the grain of _meat_ , how it curved around the littlest of bones? To feel out its organs as it breathed its dying breath, the last flutters of a heart trapped in its delicate bone cage?

Yes, she breathed to the nothings of the woods, her own heart pulsing strongly, _stronger_ , for the sacrifice made. The rush of blood in her ears drowned out its dying throes, much to her disappointment.

 _Next time_ , Elyse promised herself.  _Next time_.

 

**iv.**

By seventeen, Elyse knew that she wasn't strictly  _normal_. How couldn't she? Girls her age gossiped about needle-point, about the finery they desired and the extravagant things they could not have. About Templars, handsome and strong, built up to be knights and saviors, not a drunk or broken man among them.

How boring. How _trite_.

Elyse knew better. There were no heroes in this world, especially not a Templar.

Besides. Didn't they know that the best thing about a living thing was the look of utter, trusting devotion in their eyes before you destroyed them?

 

**v.**

There had been one for her, before the Inquisition. A Templar, that is. With brown hair and green eyes that shone when he wept. She had wanted him to kneel to her instead of to the Chantry, to confess his devotion to her above all else. To place his face between her thighs so she might smother the life from him with her sex, dripping and wet.

But she had not told him this, of course. 

He had to learn it on his own, weeks of careful teasing laced with cruelty, the quirk at the corner of her lips (luscious, burgundy, wicked) enough to make him _want_. Elyse played innocent very well. He had cried, because she had waited, and feigned ignorance to his desires. 

And then, with a careful, sweet kiss to his temple, cradling his face to her bosom as she denied him his desires, and called him disgusting. 

An abomination, to be precise.

( _Isn't it queer,_ they said, tittering at court as they always did _, for a Templar to hang himself in the woods? -- Was he possessed, you think, a desire demon, perhaps? You know how they can be. -- Oh, you're so wicked, so clever, so **terrible** , don't say such a thing._)

 

  **vi.**

Taking up hunting was the safest way to keep her  _desires_ under wraps. It was acceptable, for a hunter to be calculated and ruthless, to track their prey with the watchful eyes. Her skills with a bow and arrow had always been  _good,_ and now was Elyse's chance to make them  _better_ for her preferred prey. _  
_

But  _safe_  wasn't interesting.  _Safe_ didn't satisfy.  _Safe_ left her wanting.

There was a darkness in her, buried in the pit of her belly, stirring more with every passing year. It hungered for more than Halla blood and a single Templar's lovelorn grief.

 

**vii.**

He had asked for Cassandra to watch over him. His Nevarran guardian angel responsible for keeping him chained, in check, and restrained. No Lyrium. None at all, kept out of sight and out of reach, his poison of choice forbidden to him.

But Cullen's willpower was faltering, as was his performance. He begged Cassandra to replace him, and she had refused. He was at his most vulnerable, now. The idea that men could not be fragile-- a thought sometimes held by even the most delicate of men-- was Elyse's best and most favourite tool.

Cassandra had said that only she could talk some sense into Cullen. He had gone to Cassandra for control, but he had been looking for solace in all the wrong places. A mistake that he would pay for, perhaps, but not now. For that moment, Elyse dutifully etched concern across her freckled face, a perfect imitation of what she should be programmed to feel.

But inside, she was singing. He would change his mind. She would be sure of it.

 

**vii.**

The Lyrium had been the easiest part. Elyse procured the ingredients for _and_ brewed every potion that the party used, and Lyrium ones were no exception. Even a First Enchanter had to replenish her mana while fighting a dragon. How silly, for Cullen to disregard its value. He was no mage, true, but the perks Lyrium provided to Templars were simply invaluable.

She hummed as she worked, brewing up potions for everyone. Bees for Sera, Rock Armor Tonic for Cassandra, and so on.

If, perhaps, a few Lyrium potions were to boil down to crystal while Elyse was multitasking, why, no one would blame her. She's simply got a lot on her mind, with having to save Thedas and all.

Baby steps. For now.

 

**viii.**

Ground into a fine powder and slipped into his drinks, a little at a time. Hot cocoa, Cullen? Tea? Offered with the warm smile her person-shaped shadow makes, with the right shape and the right affectation and the right level of authenticity, that made him think he's peeling back the layers of the Inquisitor herself.

Foolish man. Doesn't he know that there's nothing underneath? Unravel her into nothing, break her down into dust. There's no woman beneath the skin, just a void. 

Of course he doesn't know. He attributes the tingling to her presence, minor as it is. There is no song, for it's not raw. _There is nothing to fear_ , she murmurs, sitting atop his desk, her lips wearing affection. For the second time, she clutched a Templar to her bosom, and this time, she has no intention of giving him up.

 

**ix.**

It progressed. Any suspicions raised are met with tears in her lilac eyes, the shuddering of shoulders, the unburdening of falsified stress. The weight of the world is upon her, to be sure, and Elyse knew what she must do. She was not a good woman, but she knew what a good one would do, and that was enough.

She would save the world, and reap the benefits of such a thing both during and after. The Inquisition gave her power over everything she touched and spoke of, echoes of it resonating out to the common peoples. There was no such thing as the Maker, but oh, Elyse would play into it. This world would never forget her, Elyse Trevelyan, Inquisitor and Savior of Thedas. 

Nor would they forget the loyal dog at her side, darling and charming and hers. All hers.

 

**x.**

She held out a crystal to him, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. It did not waver in the air, or quake, or tremble. Elyse is sure, and her smile is kind. Benevolent, like Andraste's might be. And Cullen was hurting, she could tell. He was hurting, sizzling with betrayal and fury and a thousand suspicions previously swept aside suddenly  _validated_. She had been dosing him. He shouldn't have trusted her. He--

 _Go on_ , Elyse urged, like one might to a tentative animal, her red lashes lowered and demure.  _I know you want it, Cullen. It's for you._

He's never looked so wounded. She wanted to crawl inside his skin and see exactly the how and the why of it, to shine a light onto every dark corner, brush away every spiderweb. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, trapped in his lashes like dew.

Beautiful.

His ungloved hand reached to take it, full of hesitation, fear, fury. 

Elyse cradled his face with her other hand, folding his hand around the Lyrium, pulling him close.

 _Do you need me to do it?_ she asked, genuine. He loved her, even through this, nodding once. She had always known he was weak; this was no surprise. It had been one of her key factors in her selection. So she had a type; everyone did.

She tugged his hand to his eager mouth, slick and parted, _waiting--_   Elyse couldn't wait for the self-loathing tomorrow, her heart swelling with as close as it got to joy-- and pressed the crystal to his waiting tongue.

_Suck._

And he did.

What a beautiful way to begin the beginning of the end.

 

 

 

 

 

**0.**

She could have stopped.

With Corypheus defeated, every enemy decimated and Thedas in her debt, there was simply _no more_ fighting for the Inquisition to do. It would have been best, and perhaps  _safest_ , to end it. All that war and bloodshed would have been _enough_ , for someone else. Someone more tender than her, with a heart in her chest rather than a hole. Perhaps it would have even been enough for the woman that wore her skin and used her words and played at being  _good_.

But Elyse was so tired of pretending. 

When she'd sided with the Templars, the Envy demon had shown her a world that could be, under their rule. And she'd thought, in the moment:  _Wouldn't it be nice?_

And it _was_.

From atop her throne of bones, the new Divine by force and a broken Cullen at her feet, Elyse happily sighed. Dreams did come true.

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know what i'm doing
> 
> note: transferring to my main ao3


End file.
